


Firefight

by biblionerd07



Series: In Times of War [1]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Epic Bromance, Gen, Platonic Cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 17:00:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biblionerd07/pseuds/biblionerd07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After their first firefight, Bass and Miles rely on each other for comfort.  Platonic Miloe cuddles, but could be seen as more-than-platonic if you want.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Firefight

**Author's Note:**

> You guys, I am obsessed with Marine!Miloe. Like seriously. This miiiight be expanded into a series of times Miles and Bass comfort each other during war. I just like fluffy Miloe when they're BFFs and brothers 5eva and love each other and don't make each other cry, okay? It's my happy place. (P.S. "Epic bromance" is a tag so obviously that's happening.)

Miles woke to the sound of Bass squirming in the bunk next to him. Whether he was awake or asleep, Bass couldn’t hold still. If he had to be seated, his leg bobbed up and down. Once in high school he’d gotten detention because he wouldn’t stop tapping his pen against his desk. He was all energy all the time, even here in the desert after their first firefight.

Miles suddenly realized his boots were off and felt utter confusion. He knew for a fact he had dropped onto his bunk face-first with his boots still on and had fallen to sleep immediately. Every part of him screamed with exhaustion. He’d never killed anyone before today, and he’d killed a lot of people today. Now that he was awake, he remembered the splash of red against the desert sand, the sounds of rapid gunfire and screams and the last breaths of dying men. He clenched his eyes shut and willed himself to go back to sleep. But then he heard Bass cough and immediately rolled onto his side to look at him.

Miles and Bass could identify one another’s emotions on a single word or one look. Hell, Bass could be behind him, touch his shoulder with one finger, and Miles would know if he was happy, sad, pissed, drunk, sick, whatever. So the sound of that one cough, innocuous here in the barracks to anyone else, screamed at Miles.

“Bass?” He breathed out. He got another cough in return. Miles hesitated. He knew what Bass needed but it could probably get them in deep shit. Miles racked his brain, trying to remember all the rules and protocol, but he was never good at memorizing things. Bass was better at that, always helping him through school and basic, and that thought was what propelled Miles off his own bunk with a squeak of springs that made him curse and onto Bass’s, nudging his best friend over with a shoulder.

They didn’t cuddle or even look at each other. Their shoulders were touching, and in reality they were both halfway off the bed—it’s not like they were living in the lap of luxury in king-sized beds out in the desert—but hearing one another breathe was easy comfort.

“Did you take my boots off?” Miles whispered.

“Yes.” Bass shifted a little so he could make a face at Miles. “Change your goddamn socks.”

“Am I allowed to be in your bunk?” Miles asked.

“There’s no explicit rule against it, but I doubt anyone would like it if they found out.” Bass whispered back, automatically citing the rules because he had no personal aversion and knew that was what Miles was asking. “I’m fine, Miles; it’s okay. Go back to sleep.”

“I could hear you crying.” Miles said by way of explanation.

“I can deal with it, Miles.” Bass said. Miles knew that crying was part of dealing with it for Bass, but it didn’t mean he could just sit back and listen. “Just go back to sleep.” Bass’s jaw was clenched tight now.

“Bass, how’m I supposed to sleep when I can hear you crying?”

The question had a double meaning that escaped neither of them. Miles said it jokingly, exasperated, like Bass was a loud crier keeping him awake, but Bass knew what Miles meant. Neither of them could stand the other being in pain; there was no way Miles could just roll over and sleep if he knew Bass was crying. It was the same way Bass would never be able to sleep if Miles was…well, not crying, because if Miles was crying Bass would probably faint from the shock. But Bass could always tell when Miles needed him, too, and Miles knew for a fact Bass had never just ignored it.

Bass didn’t protest anymore, just kept squirming around and knocking into Miles. Sometimes sharing a bed with Bass was like sharing a bed with a toddler; you were liable to get kicked, elbowed, drooled on, and have your hair pulled. Not that Miles actually had any experience sharing a bed with a toddler—that’s just what he’d heard about kids. But he’d also heard sometimes it was worth it when you looked down and saw an angelic face resting on your shoulder.

Bass wasn’t resting on his shoulder, and the fart he ripped just as Miles was thinking about that was far from angelic. “Oh, my God.” Miles whined. “I hate sharing a bed with you.”

“Yeah, like you’re a fucking moonbeam.” Bass shot back, and Miles was heartened by the sound of sleep in his voice. “Your feet stink.”

“The smell from your ass woke me up.” Miles grumped. Bass laughed sleepily, rolling his head on the pillow to make it tap lightly against Miles’s.

“I don’t even know which response to go with.”

“How many you got?”

“Two.”

“Gimme both.”

“The funny one was don’t ask, don’t tell. The other was smells can’t actually wake you up when you’re asleep.” Bass’s voice was getting breathy the way it did when he was drifting off to sleep and Miles burrowed down closer to him.

“Quit elbowing me.” Miles murmured, his own voice slow and tired.

“You’re the one scooting closer.”

Miles had only meant to lie next to Bass until his best friend fell asleep, but sharing a bed with Bass—as painful as it could be sometimes, physically and olfactorarily—had a way of easing him right down to sleep, protocols and nightmares alike be damned. They woke to whoops and hollers from the other guys in the barracks.

“’Bout time you two princesses hooked up.” One guy hooted as three others called for bets on who was top. Bass extracted his numb arm from under Miles’s head—it turned out _Miles_ had been the angelic little toddler on _Bass’s_ shoulder, despite Miles’s internal dialogue—and sat up, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

“Wouldn’t you all like to know?” He said smarmily, smiling wide and even winking. Miles threw his arm over his eyes to block out the light in the room. There had been no bugle yet; he was staying put.

“That is one satisfied man!” One of the bookies called. It didn’t bother Bass and Miles; if they got awkward about being called gay, they’d have called it quits on their friendship long ago.

“Alright, get going,” the CO said good-naturedly. Miles groaned. He didn’t want to get up. He felt breath on his cheek and jumped. He cracked an eyelid and found Bass’s face practically touching his own.

“Jesus, Bass, you want a kiss now?” Miles grumbled. He smiled when his remark earned him a laugh from his best friend.

“Thanks, Miles.” Bass’s morning breath wasn’t much better than his nighttime farts, but Miles just scrunched his nose in recognition of what they weren’t talking about. Bass grinned and Miles, suddenly feeling mischievous, sneaked a hand into those curls and pulled Bass down so he could plant a kiss onto his best friend’s forehead.

“Brush your teeth, sweetheart.”

Bass was laughing so hard he fell off the bed and then Miles was laughing helplessly, too, unable to follow orders and get up. Miles reached down and smacked Bass’s ass, making Bass’s attempt to get up fruitless as a new round of laughter took him down for the count again. Miles was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes, but he suddenly felt a little choked up, too. He’d never have words to express how grateful he was to have his best friend at his side.

His sentimentality was rewarded by a pair of clean socks pegging him in the face, thrown by the hand of said best friend.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I did make up the word "olfactorarily." No regrets.


End file.
